


Man Of My Dreams

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Dream Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pick Your Watson, Self-cest, Surreal, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rabbits are serving tea and glowing a merry shade of a blue. The man at the fireplace is changing appearance with every breath. And he knows exactly where to kiss John to get him hot and bothered.<br/>Dreams are truly wonderful things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Of My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> Yes, the dialogue is supposed to be ridiculous and nonsensical.  
> Choose the Watson you most prefer!

It had to be a dream.

John wasn’t entirely sure why he was so certain, but he knew it had to be. Perhaps it was the way the outer edges of his vision were blurring and blending together. More likely it was the fact that John knew that there was no reason for there to be a collection of glowing blue rabbits wearing scarves and waistcoats drinking tea on the sofa. 

Regardless of how he knew, John decided it was in his best interest to run with it. Because after accepting a cup of pink tea from one of the rabbits, the feeling of the room shifted and changed. Became more heavy and warm, wrapping around him like a favourite blanket. 

“It took you a long time to fall asleep, John.” 

The voice came from the fireplace, and John turned around three times before he could see the person there. He shifted and changed, flickering between forms. Each was as handsome and alluring as the one before, despite the differences, until he seemed to settle on an attractive, tall man with light reddish brown hair and a soft moustache. Even after he decided on form, parts of it continued to change, the hair lightening to blond or darkening to deep auburn. 

“Yeah, it was a tough night.” John smiled over the rim of his floral cup. He licked the corner of his mouth to taste the milky strawberry flavour that clung there. “The peanuts tried to take over Parliament, so I had to fly the ship,” he explained, then frowned. Oh yes, definitely a dream. 

“Ah, that sounds fascinating. One day I will tell you about the time I had to battle the dinosaur.” The man swept the hat from his head that he hadn’t been wearing a moment before, and bowed low from the waist. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, John. I am Dr. John Watson,” he greeted and flicked the hat back onto his head where it promptly disappeared. 

“Of course you are,” John grinned, returning the cup to the tray and chasing the rabbits away from the sofa so he could take a seat. “I was wondering when you would come to visit. Care to join me?” John moved to pat the cushion beside him, but in no time, Watson was already there with a foxish grin below his moustache.  

Chuckling, John rested his hand on Watson’s thigh and kneaded his fingers into the soft tweed of his trousers. 

Haunting, low, and drawn out threads of a violin performance sang through the room. John sighed and waved his hand. “Sherlock, this is not the time.” The violin changed pitch to an irritating whine. 

“He does that a lot, hmm?” Watson slid his fingertips over John’s throat before leaning over to brush a kiss behind his ear. It was John’s favourite spot to feel searching lips, but of course this man would know that. Know all the secret spots of John’s body that would leave him shaking and groaning out for more. 

“Almost daily,” John replied and spread his thighs to palm himself through his jeans. He blinked and banished his clothes. Dreams were wonderful things. “He’s in a mood.” 

“Obviously,” Watson snorted and straddled John’s lap. 

John slid his hands over a broad chest, trailing his nails through the patch of hair before tracing the outline of the scar below his collarbone. It wasn’t the exact same as John’s, more ragged and torn around the edges. “Field surgery,” he observed, leaning forward to lave his tongue over the join of new skin and old. “Healing well, despite that.” John sucked a mark beside the scar then moved his mouth down to twirl his tongue over a small peaked nipple. It pebbled under the attention and John closed his lips around it to suck, his teeth grazing at the tip. 

Between their bodies, they each thickened and hardened. John was pleased to see that they were similar in length and girth. Foreskins were both tight over the heads, and drew back to spread creamy precome over the glans. Watson reached down to wrap his larger hand around them both together and pumped his fist slowly. 

Rolling their hips in lazy, sinuous thrusts, the wet sounds filled the air to counterpoint the violin. John let Watson take charge. He rested his hands on a firm arse, digging in his nails, earning a deep throated groan the rumbled against his chest. With a soft laugh, John dragged his nails over the cheeks to leave scratches behind. Watson hissed and arched his spine, squeezing his fist. 

John slid one of his hands lower until he was able to rub the sensitive spot behind Watson’s sac, manipulating his prostate from the outside with the pads of his fingers. 

Watson gasped and tightened his thighs on John’s lap. “Oh, a doctor’s hands.” he moaned, scratching a line down John’s chest and abdomen until he could wrap his fingers around the base of each of their cocks. Double fisting them, Watson stroked hard and fast, his hips moving in quick jerking motions. “Skilled hands. Expert,” 

“I have plenty of practice.” John smirked. His fingers applied that perfect amount of pressure that he had worked out over years of self exploration. His thumb worked in teasing little circles over the responsive hole between Watson’s cleft. It twitched and flexed and John felt himself clench in tandem. 

“Almost daily,” 

“Obviously,” John grinned and his head fell back on the sofa cushions. He spread his legs wider to give himself more leverage, thrusting his hips up into Watson’s hands. His orgasm started slow, not so much the tripped spring of coiled pleasure, but the gradual build up of a lingering note before tumbling into a crescendo of shouting and bucking. 

Watson was hard on his heels, coating John’s chest with thick ribbons of semen that dripped down to pool in nests of dark brown and blond hair. His voice was heavier, rougher, his breath hot against John’s ear as he groaned out his name, riding the waves of climax until finally beginning to soften in his hands. 

“Will you come to visit again?” John asked, flicking his fingers to clean away the mess they had made. He picked up his teacup once more, savouring the bitter tang in his mouth. 

“Absolutely,” Watson adjusted his braces and pulled on a formal tailcoat. Brushing away a piece of invisible lint, he tugged at the pressed cuffs. “You have almost a hundred and fifty years to work your way through.” 

Placing his arm across his abdomen, Watson bowed and winked and vanished. 

 

 

With a gasp, John woke. His shirt clung to his stomach, his come drying on his skin. He scrubbed his hands over his sweat dampened face and sagged into his pillow. 

“Well, fuck me.” 


End file.
